The Year I Almost Drowned

by McCrimmon, Shannon

  We finished our lunch and set out for the rest of our journey–driving on highway 40 toward the city of Memphis with the convertible top open, blaring oldies tunes and embracing the beautiful sunny day.

  ***

  It was night time when we reached The Holiday Inn, which was tucked away on a side street right off of the interstate. It looked new, like it had been built recently. I pulled the car up to a parking spot closest to the front entrance. I hit the button to put the top on the car up and then we grabbed our suitcases.

  The hotel smelled brand new, like a fresh coat of paint and newly installed carpet. The floors were squeaky clean and recently polished. The woman at the front desk greeted us with a warm, pleasant smile and said, “Welcome to The Holiday Inn. How can I help y’all?” Her accent was slow and drawn out, a little different than the people from Graceville.

  “We’re checking in. I’m Charlie Hemmings.”

  The woman gazed at the computer screen and typed in some information. She looked back at us and said, “Yes, Mr. Hemmings, we have you in room 212. Here’s your key.” She handed him a plastic key the shape of a credit card. “There’s a continental breakfast from 8 a.m. to 11 a.m. And a swimming pool and work out room. Can I help you with anything else? Recommend a place to eat?” she eagerly asked. She had a sweet, peach shaped face that was smooth and free of any wrinkles.

  “No, thank you,” he said.

  “A recommendation for a place to eat would help,” I said to him.

  She looked anxious to please and interjected, “Bo’s BBQ is the best place to eat in Memphis.”

  “Barbeque sounds good,” I said.

  “It’s the best in town,” she said enthusiastically. “Here, I’ll give you directions.” She held a pen in her hand and wrote down the directions. She handed me the piece of paper.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking it and placing it securely in my purse. My grandfather wrapped his hand around his luggage handle and wheeled it to the elevator. I picked my suitcase up off the floor and followed him.

  Our room was bigger than I thought it would be–complete with a separate living area which had a sofa and wide screen television. There were two queen-sized beds, a table and two chairs. The bathroom was spacious and had a large vanity sink covered in black granite. The floors were cream-colored and shiny. All of the amenities sparkled.

  This was my first time ever staying in a hotel. My mother and I never went on any overnight trips while I was growing up. Staying in a hotel made it truly feel like a trip–away from home, on the move, and in a foreign place. Even if that foreign place was Memphis, Tennessee. In one short day, I had seen two other states that I had never been to before.

  “This is a nice room.” I touched the soft, plush white duvet comforter. Two small chocolate mints were nestled close to a burgundy throw pillow on the bed. I picked one up, unwrapped it and popped the entire piece in my mouth. “Want one?” I asked him. He nodded yes, and I threw him the other one.

  He caught it with one hand. He bit into his, chewed and swallowed. He arched his eyebrows. “I’m sure your Nana wasn’t concerned about the cost. It is nice,” he said while looking around the immaculate room.

  “Do you want to go get some dinner?” I was famished. The drive had taken longer than nine hours and eating the snack foods Nana had packed us didn’t fill me up.

  “Sounds good. Let me call your Nana first.”

  While he was on the phone with Nana, I texted Jesse telling him about the drive up there. Jesse immediately sent me back a text message.

  “I miss you already. Glad you’re having fun. Love you.”

  ***

  The parking lot of Bo’s BBQ was full of cars. A long line of people waited from the entrance to the side of the restaurant. It was a hole in the wall, older than dirt, but that didn’t deter the customers. The smell of smoky meat permeating the air was so mouth watering I wouldn’t have cared if we had to eat sitting on top of garbage cans. Loud country music played through the speakers. A waitress took our order while we waited in line, telling us that when we got a table, our food would be ready. They had a systematic routine and were obviously used to having a full house each and every night.

  We both ordered the Memphis specialty: smoked pork cooked over hickory wood and covered in a dry rub full of aromatic spices. When we were seated, our food was in front of us in a matter of seconds. We both had macaroni and cheese and baked beans, along with sweet tea to accompany our pork. The pork was tender and juicy. The sauce was distinctive– full of tomatoes and vinegar. A sweet and tangy mix.

  “Since they put that bike trail near town, Lilly’s has been real busy, almost like this,” he said.

  I wiped the barbeque sauce off of my mouth and finished chewing. “It has,” I agreed.

  “Last month was the most I’ve earned in profits in years,” his voice trailed, and he turned his head looking around at the filled tables and the hustle and bustle of waitresses and waiters walking with trays full of food. “And your Nana’s pies are selling out faster than they used to.”

  “I noticed she’s been baking a lot more, and my tips have increased.”

  “The town is going through a re-vamp. I was real worried it was going to die. There was a time about five years ago, when businesses were closing and people were moving out. But that’s all changed. It’s becoming a destination for folks,” he said. “This hit the spot.” He pointed to his empty plate.

  I took my last bite of food and smiled. “It was good.” I patted myself on the back. “Aren’t you glad I suggested we eat here?”

  “You’re not as dumb as you look,” he joked.

  I glared at him in a teasing manner. “We come from the same genetic pool.”

  “I’m well aware of that and am real glad of that, too.”

  My scowl became a smile. “Me, too. Thanks for letting me tag along on your trip.”

  “Who else could I go with?”

  I shrugged.

  “No, I mean it. Who else would’ve come on a road trip with me?” he said teasingly.

  We paid our bill and drove back to the hotel, ready to rest for the night before our big adventure to Graceland.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, we drove twenty minutes outside of the city of Memphis to get to Graceland, which was surrounded by outdated, lower-priced Elvis inspired motels and cheesy souvenir shops with flashy signs boasting “Original Elvis artifacts you’ll only find here.” A walled fortress bordered the property, making it feel more remote than it really was. In reality, a busy, widely used road was right outside of the property. We parked across the street in a large concrete parking lot and waited in a very long line to board the shuttle that would take us across the street to Graceland. The property was vast, encompassing more than fourteen acres of land. I was surprised to see so many people–especially so many foreign tourists. After so many years since his death, Elvis was still popular with people of all generations.

  Nana had purchased the tickets for us ahead of time since Grandpa was one of the most frugal people in the world. I’m sure she bought the tickets because she knew he would have pitched a fit about parting with the $64.80 it cost us to go on the Graceland Platinum Tour.

  The tour was self-guided. We were each given an mp3 player that gave tons of information about Elvis and his home. There was an eclectic group of people visiting: older women in tight and revealing clothing, men dressed up as Elvis complete with long sideburns and large-rimmed glasses, middle-aged couples with their bored teenaged kids, and senior citizens like my grandfather who had been Elvis fans since the olden days.

  Everything in Elvis’ home was completely decorated for the holiday season even though Christmas was several weeks away. Christmas trees and garland with twinkling colored lights were scattered throughout the mansion
. Mistletoe hung above every entry way. Potted poinsettias were placed in each room. Even with the festive holiday flair, Elvis’ house was still gaudy and garish.

  Stained glass windows of peacocks, a white carpeted staircase, and gold accents were just part of the décor. The staircase leading to the second floor–which was completely off limits to visitors–had white rails with golden accents. Dark blue curtains with gold trimmings hung on the wall. All of the drapes in the home appeared heavy and were covered in bold colors from blue to gold. Portraits of Elvis were hung all over the home. There were television sets in every room. One room in particular had three television sets each tuned to a different network. Evidently, Elvis heard that President Nixon watched television the same way. The kitchen was carpeted and had white, Formica counter tops and ugly mustard yellow appliances.

  My grandfather moved slowly, listening intently to each word spoken on the mp3 player. He stopped and gawked in every room, lingering longer than most visitors. I waited patiently for him in front of the Jungle Room. The room was decorated in green carpet from ceiling to floor and had lots of house plants and concrete statue monkeys to give that feeling of being in the middle of the jungle–a really bad jungle. Each piece of furniture was covered in a fabric that resembled fur. It was hard to tell if it was real or fake. I wasn’t able to actually touch any of the furniture since every room was roped off.

  I took a picture and sent it to Jesse along with a text message: “Stuck in gaudy Jungle. Help!”

  He texted me right back: “Even a firefighter can’t save you from that!”

  We ventured outside and strolled around the property, which encompassed acres of green pastures, a decent sized swimming pool, and a meditation garden. My grandfather stopped in front of the chlorinated fountain that was surrounded by a black, wrought iron fence. Four grave sites lay in front of it: one of Elvis, his mother, his father, and paternal grandfather. Grandpa took off his hat and lowered his head observing a respectful moment of silence. I patiently stood over to the side. He turned to look at me and said, “Let’s get our money’s worth and see the rest of the place.”

  ***

  We stayed overnight in Buffalo Valley, Tennessee, in a cheap motel called The Valley Inn. It was my grandfather’s idea–he didn’t want to stay in the hotel Nana had reserved for us. “We don’t need to spend hundreds of dollars for one night’s sleep,” he said, and when he saw the flashing sign stating “$29.95 per night” rooms, he made me pull the car over against my better judgement.

  This motel’s main lobby was full of cigarette smoke and had a musty, unpleasant odor that I couldn’t distinguish. It was a tie between cat litter, stale cigarettes and moldy carpet. “You’ll be stayin’ in room number 3,” the man at the front desk said, giving me a creepy smile, his teeth stained mustard yellow. His thin hair was slicked back; it looked greasy and unwashed.

  “Ice machine is outside.” He hacked up something from the back of his throat. It sounded like a cat trying to get rid of its fur ball. He gave us an old fashioned key and told us our room was outside to the right, just three rooms down from the lobby.

  We arrived at our room and opened the aqua-colored door. The paint was peeling, exposing rust underneath the thick layers of paint. The inside was as worn and weathered as the exterior. The room was dreary: full of dark-paneled walls, water stained orange carpet, and avocado green bedspreads. There were two twin beds and a television set that looked like it was from the 1980’s. The bathroom was dingy and disgusting and had specks of mildew that covered the faded beige tiles. The sink dripped small pellets of water constantly, like slow Chinese water torture. Drip, drip, drip, the sound of droplets hitting the sink basin was nerve wracking. Globs of hair had settled in the drain. The fluorescent light flickered and made a low, annoying humming sound. The room was cold. My grandfather turned the heat on and a horrible smell permeated the room.

  “Guess the heat ain’t working,” he said, unfazed by the disaster of a room. I wanted to grab my suitcase and get out of there as fast as I could.

  I pulled the bedspread back off of the bed and sat down on the over-bleached sheets that had seen more life than they needed. I sunk all the way down to the mattress springs– which essentially was foam on coiled wire. On the bedside table next to me, there was a pile of dust. “Do you think there’s bed bugs in here?” I asked, carefully peering down at the sheets, inspecting it as well as I could considering the poor fluorescent lighting overhead.

  He laughed at my question and then said, “No. This place isn’t that bad.” His interpretation of bad and my idea of what was bearable were two different definitions entirely.

  “I’m going outside to get some air.” I took my phone with me.

  “Tell Jesse hello for me,” he said to me and made an impish grin on my way out the door.

  I closed the door behind me and called Jesse.

  “Hey,” he said sleepily.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “That’s okay.” He yawned.

  “Now I feel bad,” I said. I forgot about the time difference. We were an hour behind Graceville.

  “I guess you made it out of the jungle okay,” he teased. “Are you having fun?”

  “Yeah. I have lots of stories to tell,” I replied.

  “I want to hear them when you get back.” He yawned again.

  “I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

  “Goodnight, Finn,” he said sweetly.

  “Night, Jesse.” I hung up. I entered the stinky, awful, cold room. The antiquated television played the local news, showing only black and white images. My grandfather sat on the bed, leaning his head back against the two small flat pillows as he listened to the reporter give the latest updates.

  “How’s Jesse?”

  “Sleepy. I woke him up.” I sat down on my bed and watched the images on the tiny thirteen inch television set.

  He turned the volume down on the TV and said, “You two remind me of your Nana and me when we were your age.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You’re two crazy fools in love.” He chuckled quietly to himself. “I bet you didn’t know that your Nana’s father hated me–loathed me–couldn’t stand the sight of me. Said I wasn’t worth the mud under his shoes and she could do better.” I turned to face him, surprised by his confession. He continued, “I was a bit of a hellion when I was younger, but she tamed me. We had to elope, you know.”

  My eyes widened in amazement. “You did?”

  “We didn’t have to. It just made things easier for us. It was the best option at the time.” He leaned back and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. He placed his arms behind him, resting his head on his hands. “Eloped the day after Christmas. Her father was madder than a box of frogs.” He guffawed. “It doesn’t mean you two should run off and elope, though.” He glanced over at me, gauging my reaction.

  “What, us? Grandpa.”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me. Young people do foolish things all the time especially in matters of the heart.”

  “You can be assured I won’t elope with Jesse. You can count on that,” I stated emphatically. We sat silently for a while. Voices from outside carried into our room.

  “You never know what you’re gonna do. Life will always throw surprises at you,” he said, getting his last two cents in. I didn’t respond. Eloping at the age of nineteen was not on my list of things to do, no matter how much I loved Jesse.

  Within a matter of minutes, he fell asleep. His mouth was wide open, his eyes were closed, and he was snoring loudly. I had a difficult time falling asleep–between my grandfather’s snoring, how cold the room was, and the paper thin walls that allowed every single sound to be heard. I could hear every sound the couple in the room next to ours made –more than I ever wanted to hear. I tried put
ting a pillow over my head to muffle out the high pitched noises and other incomprehensible moaning, but it didn’t help. They echoed into my head and wouldn’t go away, like a horsefly clinging to a cow on a hot summer’s day. I shivered under the thin bedspread and lay wide awake for most of the night.

  My grandfather slept through the night. He was well-rested and raring to go; whereas, I needed about five cups of strong, black coffee to help get me started and survive the rest of the long drive to Graceville. I was exhausted. I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and couldn’t tell if it was the poor lighting, the rusted glass, or my lack of sleep that made me look as awful as I did. I think it was all three.

  I turned off the bathroom light and entered the room. My grandfather gave me a worried expression, his forehead wrinkled. “You look tired.”

  I yawned. “I am.”

  “How about I drive some?” he offered, and I didn’t argue.

  ***

  I woke up from an hour’s sleep. I squeezed the back of my neck, massaging it gently. It was sore from lying on the flat pillows the night before and from leaning against the stiff head rest in the convertible. We weren’t moving. I could see a long line of cars ahead of us. The radio was turned off. I heard the low hum of car motors and could smell exhaust coming from a nearby car muffler.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  My grandfather looked irritated. “We haven’t moved for a while. I think there was an accident. Look at that map and see if there’s another way we can get home.”

  I grabbed the large atlas Nana had placed in the car and opened it to the state of Tennessee. “It looks like the next exit will take us through Pigeon Forge. It’s out of the way, but it’ll get us to 40 eventually.” I showed him, pointing to it on the map.